Cover Me Again
by R. P. Ily-Ika
Summary: "You and I can crumble together, we can linger in our own debris."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **

**The web of misery that has woven itself in Ramona's life seems to be getting worse. Her grief is now tangible in the scars that she carries around. **

**Tate's fucked up after life doesn't seem to be improving, he's being deinied the one thing that he's always craved.**

**Certain things are meant to be kept secrets.**

**I'm kind of giving Tate an origin story while moving his story forward and giving him and the season (mostly him) an ending while having a new family.**

**Many things from the finale should be disregarded, I'll say what as we move forward.**

**Enjoy :)**

…...

"You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone  
>And so you told me I ought to be leaving."<p>

…...

I throw the phone and begin to cry. I shout. I scream so loud that I hope the walls of my house tumble.

My lungs hurt, they're not getting enough oxygen. My throat feels like it's been blown out for my voice is suddenly lost. I cough up blood and that's how my dad finds me.

I'm on the floor, tears, sweat and blood soaked. I make wheezing noises and he comes to me. He puts his arms around me and holds me.

I cry more. I beg for him to fix her. I tell him it's my fault, I tell him it's hers. I confess to him that I hate her.


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing but my OCs and plot. **

…**...**

"Sorry, I want us to ally**  
><strong>But you swing on little knives**  
><strong>They're only sharp on one side**."**

…**...**

One hundred and fifty seven. One hundred and fifty eight. Shit, I need to stop counting.

Slowly and consciously, I get up from the warm bed that had slowly been boiling me alive for the last few minutes. I need air. I need the cold. I need something to fucking wake me up—maybe a bullet to the head.  
>The thoughts disappear when my mother enters the room. My tough mother has been acting like a sweet little housewife for fifty days now, I think it's a part of her therapy or some shit like that.<p>

"Hey, get moving, Ramona. We have some looking to do."

I try my best to not roll my eyes at her. I try so hard, but I do, and she doesn't see. "I'm pretty sure that you and my father are completely capable of making a decision without me. You two do it all the time anyways."

"Rick says tha-

"You're on first name basis with your therapist, now?"

"He says that it may help our relationship if we learn to make decisions together, less authoritorian and more diplomatic, so to speak."

I don't think she realizes how much of a hypocrite she is. "So, you're forcing me to go look at houses in cities that I clearly don't wanna' live in and that's supposed to be diplomatic?

"We're giving you a choice in your room and the house," she says; her tone is playful, it doesn't suit her.

"Thank you, mother."

She laughs and lifts her hand up and slaps my leg playfully, like a real mother would do. But it's too forced to have come from her. "Did you learn that slap of affection from a movie?"

"Ramona, stop! I'm trying."

"I'm not."

She's back again, her old self. I can see her nostrils flare out in anger and her face getting tight trying to hide the anger. Good. I'm tired of that mother she was trying to be, the one I needed a long time ago—not now.

"Be down soon."

I don't respond. No need to. She leaves before I can say anything. I can't blame her though, it's in her nature to ignore things and run away—maybe it's just in my nature to treat her like shit.

My feet hit the cold, wooden floor as I make my way to the bathroom. It's a bathroom that's gotten way too big for me in the last few weeks. I shower, brush my teeth, pat down my hair, Hell, I even change my own bandages—very poorly though.

The cloth manages to stick together and not open apart, it's good enough for me. I dress and run downstairs.

"Hey, ma, I'm sorry about—hi, Rick." He's here; that pathetic man who thinks himself a doctor who knows everything. My mom lives on his every word.

"Hi, kiddo'! How are you?"

"I'm fine." I'm not his patient, he shouldn't interrogate me.

"Any bad dreams recently?"

"Nope."

"Panic attacks?"

"None."

"Care to talk about it?"

"No."

He squirms under my intense but unreadable stare. I make him uneasy—or maybe it was the guilt. "Are you exci-

"No."

My mother moved towards me and ushered me into a seat- farthest from him, of course. She couldn't have her daughter upsetting her precious therapist/fuck buddy. I wonder if she fucked him on his desk or in a bed...god, I hope they haven't fucked in this house.

"Ramona, Rick tells me that a move might be healthy for us. A new start for the whole family."

"Technically, not all of us."

She freezes. Her back shivers and she turns around to stare—no, glare at me. She's pushing all of her hatred and resentment to me in that glare. I can't find enough fucks to care though.

"It's her way of dealing with the pain of loss, Becca," he chimes in.

He doesn't know her like I know her. He doesn't know me at all. "It's a fact, Doctor Rick. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm merely just stating that we're down a family member now-a-days."

It hurts. It hurts to say it outloud. But I know it hurts my mother more. And, in some sick and twisted way, it helps me. The doctor's right, but I won't give him that satisfaction.

"Ramona, please," my mother's voice breaks as it reaches the end of her plead. I want her angry, not crying.

"Sorry, mom."  
>"Get in the car, Mona, and don't forget to buckle up Gabriel." She pinches the bridge of her nose, and turns around in the kitchen. Fucking hell, I've ruined the day already.<p>

…...

"Com'on, Gabe, just say it: 'elephant'." My mom is in the front seat, barely paying attention to the road and trying to get Gabby to talk. What an idiot.

He stares blankly at her but smiles when he looks at me. Yeah, kid, get me in trouble again with the skinny-psycho. "Quit staring at him, Mona, you're distracting him."

"And forcing the kid to talk is distracting you from driving. We wouldn't want another acc-

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

I bite my tongue. I wonder if she regrets having me now...having us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Enjoy :)**

…**...**

"And all the while I'll know we're fucked, and not getting un-fucked soon**  
><strong>When we get home we're bigger strangers than we've ever been before**  
><strong>You sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor."

**...**

"Dad should meet us inside, mom. We don't want to keep that lady waiting, she seems uncomfortable here." I'm uncomfortable here. The house is too big—way too big. We were supposed to be down sizing to possibly fill up this void that we have. This house makes my 'void' not filled, it does quite the oppisite effect.

"Mona has a point. We'll meet you inside." She picks up her bag and leaves my dad struggling with a fiesty baby. So typical, so expected that I don't really care—or I shouldn't care.

"Hi, Rebecca is it? I'm Marcy! This is the first house on our stop!" She exclaimed too happily. "The house hasn't been on the market for long but I'm so happy to see someone interested in the house. Is this your daughter?"

"One of them," I respond first. I don't think she caught the undertones of my statement. But my mother did and quickly works to correct it.

"The other one isn't moving in with us until later."

"Oh. You look very young, Rebecca!"

"It's 'cause she is," I cut in again. Oh, my mother is completely going to hate me. I can't help myself.

"That's...nice. Follow me you two!" She leads us through the gated house.

I look up and see a large, strange looking house. It's almost awkward compared to the other houses near it. There's something quite off about the house.

"The land is quite spacious and perfect for raising a little boy. He'll love to run around there and you can chase hi-

"Oh, my mother doesn't do the chasing, she leaves it to me and dad," I say as I run my hand on the red brick.

"Let's...go inside then."

She begins talking again, but I don't listen. She talks too much, she's not so different from my father, actually.

"I'm legally bound to tell you though that there have been deaths here."

My mom turns to face the woman, finally taking her eyes away from the house. Her eyes had been in awe and now they showed horror.

"What?" She asks, almost as if she had been insulted.

"There's been deaths in here, mom." I don't say anything insulting. This revelation makes me uneasy as well. I may not like my mother, but I surely don't hate her.

"Would you like to see the rest of the house?"

"No, thank you. I'd like to leave now."  
>Marcy's face falls and turns to lead us out when my dad shows up, his face lighting up when he goes inside. "This is a pretty house, Becky. Good pick."<p>

"No, it's not for-

"Elephasth!" Gabe says excitedly.

My mother turns to face him and smiles. I don't know why, but I was jealous then of a little baby. Maybe it's because I don't ever remember her smiling at me like that. But It fades when I remember that Gabe will probably dislike her as much as I do when he grows up, when he realizes mommy sucks at being a mommy.

Gabe's blonde hair gets ruffled and his plump, pink cheeks get squeezed. He's adorable, but it won't last forever. At least I'll still give two shits about him when he gets less cute.

"Becky, Gabby seems to like this house, let's just give it a chance," my dad pleads, I wish he'd man up.

"Ray, there's be-

"Maybe all this house needs is a nice, little family to return its beauty," Marcy says. Oh, she's good.

"Can you show us more of the house?" I'm surprised my mom gave in.

The rooms are big and the wall colors are ugly. They tell me how the pink room would suit me well and how other shades of pink would go beautifully. I compromise by saying that I'll paint it a gray if we get the house.

They discuss different options of the rooms and of distances and all sorts of shit. We walk around the house for what feels like days and I'm forced to hold the damn baby.

"You seem tired, deary. Why don't you let your mom hold your brother," Marcy offers.

"My mother wouldn't know how to hold a baby even if it was strapped on her."

"Well aren't you such a good older sister. It's strange how you two have different hair color from your parents."

"I dye my hair. Gabe's-

"I really love this house," my dad interrupts. He's standing in the middle of the home office looking room and is falling more and more in love with this house. With this very house I want nothing more than to run away from.

"Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? Dad, this place is a disaster. It's a fucking cleaned up horror show! People have _died _in this fucking place. Does that mean nothing to you?"  
>He gives me the look. "What do you think, Becky?"<p>

"I wish it wasn't such a downer on our moods."

"Listen, Rebecca. I know your family needs a new start, you can use this home for a new start."

They're ignoring me. Fucking hell, and they wonder why I can't stand them! They wonder why I'm so "fucked up" according to my mother.

"Will you listen to me?" They all ignore me.

"Rebecca, I know this is a tough time for you."

"We can move on in here, I can feel this is a good, fresh start."

"Ray, we can't move on if this house isn't positive in energy."

Their voices are overlapping and I'm about to drop this damn baby. I've heard enough. "How did they die?"

They are all shocked by my forwardness and Marcy answers by impulse, "two suicides and the mother died during child birth."

"Fancy." I look over to them, challenging them to take this house.

"Ramona, take your brother outside," my mom orders—so much for diplomacy.

I do as I'm told and almost run outside. This house is wrong. It's so wrong in so many ways but they can't see it—not like I can.

Outside, I look up and notice that a window curtain is open, funny thing is that nobody had left it open when I was in there. This house is crazy, and my parents will be too if they take it.

**Familiar characters will be making an appearance soon :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, you all will be disregarding the family that moved in during the season finale. I hope you lot got that from my previous chapter, but since I forgot to tell you in the first place: my bad.  
>And thanks so much for the positive feedback I'm getting for this story, I honestly didn't expect it at all. <strong>

**I love you all. :)  
>I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, but it might. I'm sorry in advance if it does.<strong>

**Enjoy :)**

…...

"When we moved here together we were so disappointed,

sleeping out of tune with our dreams disjointed."

…... 

"One hour. Sixty minutes. One fucking hour. That's all it took for you two to decide that moving to this damn house is the best option. One hour. Who makes a decision so big in one hour? God, Marcy will be pleased as fuck about this." I'm fuming. They're idiots. Maybe it's best if we all just went our separate ways.

"Ramona, the house is an upgrade from-

"An upgrade? We were supposed to be getting a smaller house—we were supposed to downsize! We're not supposed to be getting a bigger house to rub it in my face that sh-

"Don't you dare!"

"Why? Does it help you pretend that she never existed?"

"You are out of line!"  
>"Maybe I should leave?" Marcy offers.<p>

"No, I suffered through your nonsensical chatter, woman, you stay for our family drama," I snap at her before returning to my unreadable expression. "Do you not know what this will do to us? To me?"

"Ramona, this is just a house!"  
>"It's an empty room for me!" I start, I can feel hysteria leaking through, "it's an uncluttered bathroom! It's a silent hall! It's a fucking lonely house for me! This shit will not mask or help! It'll rub in my face that I'm missing half of me! I'm an incomplete fucking box and this house will do nothing but remind me of that everyday."<p>

I'm about to break, I can feel the swelling in my chest and the constriction in my throat. Tears are about to drop and I know my parents can't handle it, and neither can that Marcy woman who doesn't know what to do.

My mom looks me dead in the eyes before speaking, "Marcy, we're taking the house."

Fuck this. Fuck that. Fuck this house. Fuck her. Fuck him. And most importantly, fuck you.

…...

"Did you throw away the things you didn't want?" My dad asks, leaning his thick body against my door.  
>"Yes."<p>

"Finished packing everything?"  
>"Yes."<p>

"We're leaving. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you at least a little bit excited?"  
>"No."<p>

"Will you say something else to me, Ramona?"

I finally look him in the eyes, "fuck you."

"When are you going to stop punishing us, Ramona?"

I stare at him blankly, "never."

He looks down and leaves. He fucking leaves. Instead of trying to work this out or washing my mouth out with soap for cussing, he leaves me alone to pack; like I did nothing wrong.

I know what I do is wrong, but fucking hell does it feel good.

And walking to the car, I know I want nothing more than to make them hate me. They already resent me, might as well give them a reason to. They eye down my bandages, maybe checking to make sure I haven't tried to slit my wrists again. God, they're douche bags.

"Time to say good bye, everyone!" My mom laughs, her eyes watering.

I march myself to the car and slam the door, hoping they realize their _other _daughter isn't there. Maybe, just fucking maybe, they'll notice I'm gone. But as I wait and pout in the car like a four year old, I see them. Dad's carrying Gabby in his arms, making faces and mom's laughing. God, I fucking hate this.

…...

"Mono! Mono!" Of course he'd call me the disease.

"No, Gabriel. It's Mona."

He stares blankly and then laughs loudly in my—our mother's face, I've taught him well. He keeps repeating his new name for me, and I don't care. He'd forget tomorrow, anyways.

"Mona, don't encourage him."

"You've got to be shitting me, woman."

"Try not to cuss in front of Gabe."

"And why the fuck not?" It's supposed to sound menacing as I say it, but I'm not known for menacing—or showing many emotions. Good thing it wasn't me in that fucking accident, I'd like to see how they'd handle a severely depressed chick who actually likes—liked, who liked to talk about her feelings. Maybe they would have dumped her on the side of the road.

"Ramona, me and your dad are going out tonight. Watch Gabriel for us."

Is she fucking serious? We haven't even moved in, fuck, we haven't even made it to the new house yet and they're already doing this shit again. Why can't they raise a normal fucking child? Ignoring them isn't preparing them for the world, it's fucking us up.

"Fine."

"No fancy word play I see. Ramona, maybe your attitude is finally improving," my dad chuckles.

God help him.

After an hour of riding in a car with people who use and ignore me, we're there. The house's windows are all shined, the wood all polished, the grass is cut and green, and everything looks perfect. It's a beautiful house, but I want nothing to do with it. That house is a fucking metaphor for my family: it can try as hard as it wants, but it's always going to be fucked up. And if it had been my choice, I wouldn't choose this family, let alone this house.

Sometimes I wonder if everything will be ok. But I'm not naïve, nor am I stupid, I know it won't be.

"Get Gabriel out...honey."

"Is that your second step of therapy: calling your bitch of a daughter cute, little pet names?"

She turns to me, "Ramona, stop. I'm not dealing with your antithetical mood swings."

"When have you ever "dealt" with me, mother?"

"I'm trying to keep us together and s-

"Mom, stop. I'm not dealing with your bullshit," I mock her previous statement- I mock her. And she hates it, but she gets out of the car and leaves. It didn't hurt when she walked away, at least it shouldn't hurt. But what did suck was the fact that I knew that my outburst didn't affect her. Not one bit.

"Mono!" Gabby's voice brings me back to the car, no longer deeply thinking of how much our mother doesn't care. He reaches out, his fingers curling in agitation when I don't free him of his car seat.

"Kid, I'm not here to please you!" He laughs in my face and I give in, picking him up and cooing his whines. "Ok, maybe I am, but only a little bit."

His tiny fingers curl into my dyed red hair, pulling slightly and holding on tightly to me. He nestles his head on my shoulder and doesn't whine anymore, that's perfectly fine with me, I hate the sound of kids.

"Oh, Gabby, what the fuck are we gonna' do in this nut house?" I ask, looking up at the place.  
>"Play," he says, muffled by my shoulder.<p>

"Spoken like a true mental patient."

**Yeah, you'll be meeting a familiar face or two next chapter. It was supposed to be in this chapter, but I figured some more development of a nice, loving family was needed. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I wanted something else to happen in this chapter, but it seems I got a bit carried away with the details of Ramona's personal life that I forgot I had something else to put in here.**

**But you're meeting someone familiar...that's not Marcy. And there is a hint of someone else. **

**Enjoy :)**

…**...**

You've been living awhile in the front of my skull, making orders.

You've been writing me rules, shrinking maps, redrawing borders.

…...

My mother's voice just...annoys me. I can hear her from upstairs in my new room, and I can't help but think how shrilly it is, especially when she's happy or excited. I leave the pink-infested room and head towards the voice that makes me recoil.

"And so then Rick says 'maybe it's just your-

"Are you going to let me starve?" I interrupt her punchline.

She turns to glare at me before speaking with more softness to her, "can't you whip up something in the kitchen?"  
>"Wrong twin. I can't fucking cook." God, this hurts. Being blunt about it, I mean.<p>

She's tense again and she looks over to me, "ordering pizza then?"

"Obviously, unless you want me to drive."

"My card's in my bag upstairs. Put Gabriel to bed first the-

"Seriously? You're going to tell me how to take care of Gabby? You can't even hold the fucking child, don't tell me how to take care of him."

My mother stops talking and just looks at me.

"I seriously fucking hate this house, there's rats in the attic, I can hear them scrambling around up there. Good fucking choice, bra—fucking—vo, mom."

They stare blankly at me, patiently waiting until I leave. I comply to their unasked demands and leave them alone. I make it almost all the way up when the scooting of chairs stops me and I turn around to watch them leave.

"Bye Ramona," they say and leave, not bothering to lock the door.

With a grunt, I'm back downstairs; checking to make sure that everything's been locked up. I walk towards the back door and begin dry heaving. The smell is rancid and sickly, it leaves me nauseated as I pick up the bag and walk towards the door to the trash can outside.

I remember how when I used to throw away the trash, I'd take my time coming back inside, hoping that someone—anyone would drive up and take me away from this family. Now I take my time hoping that my sister would come home—to this house, I mean. That she would be apart of this fucked up family again. She was my sanity.

The locks click into place when the hope leaves me alone for the time being and I go inside. Everything's so quiet, so big and open. It's nothing like the cluttered mess I'm used to.

Gabby's cries knock out the pensive thoughts in me again. He's quickly becoming my sanity, maybe I'm too desperate to find it that I'll even use a baby for it. How pathetic am I?  
>"Gabby, com'on, hush now."<p>

The crying is unbearable, but he keeps at it until he forces me to pick him up.

"Better now, spoiled brat?"

He nestles into me and falls asleep around the same time that my legs do. Stupid, evil baby. I lay him down gently and walk back to my room. And changing my clothes, I realize that I'm utterly alone in this house. Excluding the baby, of course.

I crawl desperately into my bed and lay down on my side, bringing my knees up to my chest. It's funny now, of course, but I once read that humans go into the fetal position because that's the last time we truly felt safe: our mother's womb. And by funny, I mean I absolutely wanted to die in those few moments.

…...

It started off as a quiet, knocking noise that quickly escalated into something being thrown around. My eyes open of their own accord and my body wills me to get up. Stumbling around, I find the light switch in the hallway, hoping somewhere in my sleepy state of mind that the noise will stop. It doesn't and after a few moments, the hallway light flickers out. Fucking great.

I quickly shuffle downstairs, shivering as the temperature in the house seems to have dropped a million degrees since last time. As soon as I step onto the downstairs floor, silence engulfs me again.

I look around, clad in my shorts and tee shirt, before moving to go up the stairs again but then I hear it: a muffled whistling. It's coming from the basement.

The logical side of me wins as I stepped forward towards the basement door. If it's murderers, they'll give me something I want: death. If it's nothing, then nothing will happen.

I shake slightly with each step I take and reach out for the handle before I can even reach it. My heart is thudding so loud against my chest, the excitement builds

My fingers brush against the cool, metal door knob when the screams penetrate throughout the house. I turn around and bolt up the stairs, taking two at a time to reach Gabby faster.

He's flailing around in his crib, his face red and sweaty. The lights are flickering on and off but then it stops when I reach out to grab the screaming baby.

"I'm here, Gabby, I'm here. It's ok," I coo into his ear, his cries dying down.

My parents aren't home, but they should be the ones who are calming down Gabby. They should be the ones holding him when he's scared. They should be here, not out in the town fucking each other, and probably other people, senseless. Fucking bastards.

…...

My head is pounding. My brain is about to explode, I swear it. I go downstairs after a few hours, maybe minutes, of sleep; looking for a bottle of pills.

"Morning, Mona. Have a good night?"

Can't they see it? Can't they see my head is swollen about ten times its regular size? Can't they see I'm in fucking agony?

"Did Gabby sleep alright? You know how I hate it when he cries in the middle of the night for no r-

"If you actually acted like a mother, then you would know if he slept alright. If you were even here half the time, you'd know if he's alright or having a nightmare or fucking having a baby panic attack. Now where the fuck did you put the headache shit?" I'm desperate, clawing at every bottle I see in the kitchen cabinets, looking for that one fucking bottle.

She reaches over and takes out one and hands it to me. First time she's ever done something for me without asking something in return. I'm proud.

"I'm going to my therapy session today. Watch, Gabby for us, Ramona."

I spoke too soon. Way too fucking soon.

I pop the pill into my mouth and swallow without the help of a liquid. The relief washes over me instantly. Call it the placebo effect, but my headache is fading already and it feels fucking amazing.

"Ramona did you hear me?"  
>"Just let me enjoy being headache free, your voice annoys me and brings it back."<p>

"Ramona!"  
>"Sh! I'll do it, God, can't either of you shut the fuck up? You know I'll do it, quit nagging."<p>

They're pleased. They don't care if I cuss them out until my lips fall off. As long as they get what they want, I can do whatever the fuck I want. It's always been this way...sort of.

"And Moira will be here, too, so you won't be completely by yourself, Mona," my dad finally says.

"Who the fuck is Moira?"  
>"I'm Moira."<p>

She's old. Her face is wrinkled and her red hair color is fading. "I'm your housekeeper."

"I'm Ramona. I'm the sardonic teenage daughter who the parents neglect."

"Shall I clean your room, Ramona?"

"There's nothing to clean, actually, but thank you."

She nods and dismisses herself from our presence. This makes me dislike my parents just a little more, if that's even possible. "You've already hired a maid?"

"She's nice, Ramona. A little old, but nice," my dad says. "But we have to get going, Mona. Becky, let's go."

"How is it that you two go out all night and I'm the one with a massive hangover headache?" I always get the short end of the stick.

"Lucky, I guess. See you later."

They leave. They leave me in a house that's fucking crazy with an old lady I just met with a baby who wouldn't sleep last night. Thank you. Thank you so fucking much, parents.

**Sucks how I went overboard with Ramona's details, but they are necessary. Next chapter will be slightly different. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh, I forgot to mention this in the first chapter: the theme to this story is "buried secrets". Kind of like how last season was infidelity, this one is secrets—buried secrets ;)**

**And if anything said between certain characters towards the end offends you, I'm sorry.**

**But enjoy this familiar character you'll be seeing, I don't know if you all will remember him from the show though. He's not mentioned often ;)**

**But I don't think this is as good as the previous chapter, but enjoy anyways :)**

…**...**

"But I was upstairs and downstairs**  
><strong>And outside on the roof.**  
><strong>Small stars and steel bars**  
><strong>Say the ghosts up in the attic tell the truth."

…**...**

This room is going to kill me. Its pink walls seem to be closing in on me and I swear I'm going to die in here. I go off and shower, hoping this trapped feeling will go away. It doesn't. It gets worse and worse as the day progresses.

The constriction in my chest becomes tighter. The disoriented feeling in my head becomes more prominent. The fucking cuts on my wrists are fucking itchy. I'm dying. I'm dying and I'm dying in one of the worst ways ever: suffering.

I feel hopeless. I feel so fucking alone. And then I hear it again: the whistling. My afflicted thoughts disappear and I walk out of the damned room.

I can breathe again.

The whistling continues and I look into Gabby's room, he's asleep. I walk towards the basement and rush down the stairs, trying to catch the culprit. But I find Moira in there, cleaning up.

"It's an utter mess down here, Miss Ramona," she says before I can even ask what she's doing. "Did you have a party in here?"  
>"No."<p>

"Luckily, nothing is broken, but it is just an utter mess. Go back upstairs, I can clean this up."

She begins her quick strokes with the broom, cleaning up whatever the hell that was on the floor. I walk towards the stairs and I hear it again. It's clearer, the whistling, and it's not coming from the basement this time. The noise is coming from above me.

I look up at the ceiling, finding that the whistling is louder the higher up I go. I take the stairs to the attic, taking my time as to not scare whoever is in there.

The attic is small and slightly dark, but the opened window makes the room brighter—less horror movie scary. A boy is sitting on the ledge of the window, his legs are dangling out and hitting the side of the house. Maybe I should push him.

No, I'll stay cordial, "go ahead."

He turns to me, his curly blonde hair moving of its own accord as he squints at me, the sun won't allow him to open his eyes fully.

"Jump," I encourage.

"What if I was a suicidal kid, would you still tell me to jump?" He finally speaks, his voice is slightly strained, almost as if he hasn't spoken in a while.

"Yeah, you know, the fall wouldn't kill you. It'd give you a few broken bones but death wouldn't be granted to you, I'm afraid."

"How about you jump first and prove you're right."

"I'm not the one sitting on the ledge," I remind him.

"But you are encouraging said suicidal case into jumping, you must feel some kind of desire to jump."

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious."

He squints his eyes at me even more, turning to now sit fully in the attic and not dangle outside the window.

"I don't believe you," he challenges.

"Then don't, but get the fuck out of my house."

"Is this how you treat all guests?"

"You broke into my house."  
>"You don't even like it here."<br>"You still broke into it. Twice."

"Nothing's broken."

A slight sound from downstairs reminds me that Moira is currently cleaning a mess that someone made."Not broken, just a fucking mess. Why are you even in here?"

"Hiding. You?"

"Searching for you."

"You must be good at finding things."

"No, you just fucking suck at hiding. Speaking of, what are you hiding from?"

He stands up and starts poking through the opened boxes, "I don't know. Nothing, everything."

"Everyone, no one? You're such a mystery." I hope he understands sarcasm and he's not just another idiot criminal.

He looks at me and smirks, "my mom's a bitch."

"Dad's a cocksucker, right? I've heard this shit before."

He smiles at me and then looks down at my arms, noticing the bandages.

"Staples, who knew they could just fucking staple me back together?" I reply before he can ask the question. People are always asking so many fucking questions.

"Well, obviously the doctors knew."

"They saved my life, fucking cunts."  
>"Damn bastards. Take revenge on them?"<br>"Only on my parents, they're the ones who found me."

"Did you want to be found?"  
>He's probably wondering if I'm one of those emo chicks who cut themselves for attention, or try and commit suicide for pity. "Nope. I didn't even say good bye."<p>

"Saying good bye is for pussies."

"Exactly my thoughts"

He shifts through some boxes before walking towards me, subtracting the distance between us. "Did you cut vertically or horizontally?" He asks, his interest in me seeming to peak.

"Vertically, horizontally is for the weak emo kids."

"I think overdosing is for weak kids. I prefer a messier scene, myself," he says proudly.

I smile, this kid is sick. I like him. "Into that Black Dahlia shit, I see?"  
>He turns and looks through another box, this one even closer to me. "Too messy, I prefer Kurt Cobain style. Blood and guts is sort of my thing."<p>

"Besides when it comes to the Black Dahlia which gives you the creeps."

"Not so much the creeps, but there wasn't any blood and guts until after she was dead. Where's the fun in that?"  
>"Yeah, where's the fun in fucking up a basement?" I challenge him. He turns to me, his dark eyes catching mine.<p>

"I got a little bit carried away. It's fun, you should try it sometime."  
>I'm about to reply when Gabby's cries reach my ears. Sister first, flirt later. "I gotta' go get him. I suggest you get the fuck out though."<br>"Why, is your dad going to kick my ass if he finds me?"  
>"No. But you're kind of a creep and leaving you in here alone weirds me out," I tease and then head down the stairs, I whip around quickly and see he's still staring after me. "I'm Ramona, by the way."<p>

He slightly smiles before he mumbles, "Tate."

**It is barely shorter, but I think dragging it out would be bad since I just uploaded three chapters for you lot to read. Sorry about that. I get carried away while writing.**

**Until next time. **

**:)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Uhm, hi. It's been seven/eight months and yeah...sorry. I've decided to not leave this story abandoned and it's going to be finished. I really am sorry. My bad. School got the best of me. A lovely thanks to Jarrod Gaither for actually pushing me to finish this story. And yeah. **

**Enjoy :)**

…...

"You need to cut me out  
>Because I'll only let you down<br>And you deserve attention  
>I can't give you that."<p>

…...

Gabby's crying seizes when I reach the doorknob of his room. I can hear his soft, sleep induced sounds from outside the door. I turn to leave but the sound of soft footsteps forces me to keep going all the way into his room and I pick him up. I walk down until I reach the bottom of the stairs, Gabby in my arms.

"Well, hi there, sugar." She runs her wrinkled hand down perfectly framed, blonde curls

"How'd you get in here?"

"The door's always open when it comes to this house." She flashes me a pearly white smile, it's sickening. And it's almost as if she wants me to be welcoming. Wrong fucking person.

"Get the fu-

"Where are your parents?" She interrupts me. Of course she would.

"They're never fucking here, now can you pl-

"My my, is that your little brother?" She's reaching for Gabby. Her bony, wrinkly fingers are reaching for my baby brother.

"Yes. Now pleas-

"You seem flustered."

"Wouldn't you be if some woman would refuse to listen to you?"

She tilts her head, her smile falling. I wonder if she's given up.

"You've lost someone, haven't you? I can see it in your eyes."

"Get the fuck out of my house!" I put Gabby down on the nearest surface and close in on her. "Get the hell out! Go!"

"Take care now!" She calls before she leaves fully.

I can't remember the last time I've been this—this blinded by an emotion that shouldn't even exist. She's gone and I still can't find the ways to calm myself. Gabby's insistent whines, the sounds of Moira cleaning in the room, and the woman's words transfix my brain and take me to a place I haven't been in a while. I need a hit. I need it now.

"Ramona, would you like me to take Gabriel back to his room?" Moira's voice snaps me out of the mood.

"I've got it, thanks," I snap at her.

She's not the one I'm mad at, but she's good enough for now. My hands pick up Gabby from his crying corner and I walk, more like stomp, up the stairs, ready to tear everything apart. But as I reach into his room to put him back, I can feel his soft breaths against my neck, tickling all the little hairs against it. My anger soothes itself out, I feel it creep away from my mind and hide behind the "older sister" feelings, just waiting to be let out again.

"Come on, Gabby, wake up now." He moans against my skin and buries his face into my shoulder, earning a grunt of annoyance from me.

"Fine. Wake up mom in the middle of the night, I'm not your fucking mother." I want to just toss him into the room, but what kind of sister would I be if I managed to let die another one of my siblings? Maybe then I'd live up to the names my mom calls me behind my back.

"Mona!" The sound of my name resonates from the whole house, I almost expected my mother to be calling me from miles away. But it's my father, returning from leaving her at her sex partner's 'office'.

"Yes, dad?" I walk out from Gabby's room, after putting him down. My forearms press against the railing and I let my body tilt forward, leaning against the rails.

"Did you know that the local high school doesn't have a good football team?" He slams the door shut, unaware of his strength apparently.

"No."

"Well, looks like they found their replacement coach!" He smiles, holding his arms out for me to run downstairs and into his awaiting arms.

I puff out air in response. It was supposed to be a fucking laugh. But my fucking God I can't even manage to do that right. Congratulations me, you fuck up once again. I turn around and walk away from him. Walking away is something I'm good at.

"Do you want to ca-

"No!" I call out, interrupting him.

I don't need him to try now to be a father. I don't need him to try and be my friend. He's too fucking late for that. I feel my anger quickly rising again, just the thought of him trying to be a father to me. It's fucking pathetic, really. Where was he when I needed a ride to practices? Or when I had a nightmare? That's right, he was out fuc-

My thoughts cease as I enter my room, that Tate kid calmly inspecting the items I have in there. "The fuck you doing here, weird kid?" I question, slamming my door shut and moving to the bed.

"Got bored in the attic," he replied simply, inspecting a picture that's flat down on a random box. "Is this fake?"

"No."

"There's two of y-

"That's my sister."  
>"Oh," he says, nodding and putting it back down. He doesn't ask me where she is or why we look so fucking much alike. He doesn't as questions that make me want to rip my heart out and I sigh, relaxing on my bed.<p>

"You were a blonde?" He chuckles, I roll my eyes at him.

"It was a stage, ok? God, I look like a fucking lard it that picture."

"You can't even see it," he challenges.

"Dude, it's my fucking picture. I know exactly which one you're talking about."

He laughs again, setting it down again. "You haven't unpacked everything."  
>"I know. I'm hoping they change their fucking mind and leave."<p>

He nods in agreement.

"Now get the fuck out of my room, Tate."

"Why?"

"Because you're still a creep." I'm lying to him, I don't want him to leave. Tate's too entertaining, but he has to leave. He has to leave so I can fucking sulk alone in my room. I need to isolate myself so I can have a reason to self loathe and Jesus Christ is this kid interrupting my self loathing time.

"I'll see you around..._Mona_," he mocks, slipping out of my room and into the hallway.

I lay back down, covering my face with my hands. The urge to claw my own skin off becomes strong and my nails slowly start to dig in when the door opens far too quickly for my liking.

"Mona, Reina called and said she'll be here tomorrow," my father says.

I don't move my hands and I don't respond.

"She's going to need help."

Silence.

"Would you mind helping her?"  
>Silence.<p>

"Fine, have it your way. I'm picking up your mom now, watch Gabby."

Silence, again.

"Ramona, get off your fucking ass and move it!" He yells at me.

I laugh in response, slowly peeling my hands away from my face and rolling over onto my stomach to look up at my father. "I think you need therapy too, daddy, your temper is getting pretty short," I mock, looking innocently up at my father.

He doesn't find this amusing and leaves, slamming my door shut.

"Fuck you!" I shout loudly, standing up and running after him, gripping the stair's rails as I shout down to him. "Watch how you drive, daddy, wouldn't want another accident to happen, would we?"

He slams the fucking door again, like a fucking little kid. I'm seething once more, gripping the rails so tightly I'm sure they'll break.

"Cruel and smart, I like it," a familiar voice says in my ear, my hair being breathed out of the way.

I spin around, finding that there's no one around me. There's no time to wonder what the hell was in my ear when I hear it. It's a soft thud, barely audible, but it's there. I fucking heard it but there's no one around me, not even Moira. They're all fucking gone and left me in this freaky fucking house.

My bare feet pad towards my room when there's a loud bang and I'm running. I'm running like a scared fucking little girl into my room to hide, because that's what I am. I'm a scared little girl with too many fucking responsibilities.

Gabby cries, he cries so hard that I can hear him clearly from the next room. Don't fucking move. Don't fucking move. He's not my fucking responsibility. I have no reason to go get him.

But his cries are so loud, and it's so fucking constricting in my room. I feel myself shake on the bed, needing to get up and make him be quiet, but I'm stubborn. I won't move. I will not move.

Then he starts laughing, he never laughs by himself.


End file.
